


Rush

by Miss_M



Series: J/B in Depeche Mode Key [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Depeche Mode
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Smut, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her mouth is like the sunrise, a constant revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics can be found [here](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/depechemode/rush.html). I own nothing.

Her mouth is like the sunrise, a constant revelation.

Head thrown back against the pillow, Jaime spares a moment to think. He really shouldn’t be surprised. Not only because her mouth is wide, thick-lipped, moist… 

He arches a little, sighs deeply. 

Because Brienne tries harder than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms to excel at everything she chooses to turn her hand to. Or her mouth to. She works and practices until she gets it just right. Until it’s perfect. 

He instinctively lifts his right arm to stroke her hair, only remembers he has no hand when his stump is gliding over her dry, brittle hair, as though he were stroking one of Tommen’s cats. He replaces it with his left hand, runs his fingers through her hair rhythmically to tell her it’s good, it’s very good like that. His stump rests on his thigh, just by her ruined cheek, his scars nearly brushing hers, and for a little while at least Jaime doesn’t mind that he has no sword hand anymore. 

Her hands are large and callused and astonishingly light as she strokes his thighs, the tips of her fingers brush over his stump. Delicate, almost. Her mouth is warm and wet, and it’s the whole world. Jaime could no more tire of her than he could tire of breathing. She presses with her lips, sucks harder as he taught her, but the way she strokes him with her tongue is all Brienne, he never mentioned that before the first time she tried it. More fool he, for thinking she wasn’t ready yet, that she might balk at using her tongue when she’d already taken his cock in her mouth, inside herself. 

He is arching in earnest now, eyes closed, all of his skin, all of his senses in Brienne’s mouth. A drop of sweat rolls down his stomach, vanishes in the hair close to her mouth. Jaime imagines her tasting his sweat there, he’s not going to last much longer if she keeps doing it like that. His fingers massage the back of her head gently, not pressing or holding, just telling her it’s very, very good. He never could muster too many words at this point, trying to control his breaths so he doesn’t come just yet, even as his hips twitch, disregarding his good and forbearing intentions, asking her to take him in deeper, right now. 

She does. But she doesn’t let him hurry things along, she’s slow and careful, and he’ll have to bear with her. Jaime has no complaints. He is especially naked like this, he would tell her any dark, sordid secret she asked just now. If he had any dark, sordid secrets Brienne didn’t already know. 

Jaime does not think about Cersei’s ruby lips, her sharp little tongue, pointed like a dagger, her quick licks, like a cat’s. Doesn’t think about it even as his body does, for a moment, several long moments. 

He opens his eyes and looks down at Brienne’s pale blond hair under his fingers, her long, muscular back, her shoulders hunched and intent between his legs. For a moment Jaime can only see her, not feel the glide and quiet smack of her lips on him or hear her breathing through her nose, deep and steady. Brienne has seen him weep in helplessness, heard him tell terrible truths and even worse lies, watched him crawl and seek and try. What he was, what he has become. When Tommen adamantly refused to leave King’s Landing without his pets, Jaime decided that bundling a weeping child under his arm might not be the best way to attempt a secret escape. So he left Brienne to guard the little king without a kingdom, and went in search of a large covered basket. And now here he is: a handless hedge knight from an accursed House, sharing a room in a ramshackle inn with a warrior woman, his son who calls him ‘uncle’ still, and three cats.

With her intent, eager mouth and her gentle fingers, Brienne tells him everything. This is a conversation they’re having, Jaime thinks, and smirks at himself when at last she sucks him harder, faster, tongue laving the length of him, and his eyes roll back, he shifts so the pillow slips and the back of his head strikes the wall. He grunts in brief, sharp pain even as he endeavors to swallow his moans, belabored by his pleasure, so as not to wake Tommen, who shares the other bed with the cats. The lad sleeps like a log, exhausted after a night’s ride. Jaime was tired too, yet the sight of Brienne taking off her breeches and jerkin, gilded by early morning light, proved too tempting. 

Brienne gasps a little before her lips ring him once more, and she swallows. 

Jaime opens his eyes to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, drinking fresh spring water out of the cup he always places close by for her before they lie together. Coupling makes her thirsty, and he imagines that for all her generosity she does not want to carry the taste of him in her mouth for long. Jaime may not be proud of much in his life, but when he reaches out to stroke her cheek, the soft skin behind her ear, the tendrils of damp hair there, he sees not a prize to be won and guarded jealously or an opponent to be vanquished. He sees Brienne, pink-cheeked and returning his grin with a shy smile, still a young girl at heart. 

The bed is so short and narrow they’ll have to curl up like a single hedgehog to sleep, but not yet. For all her lingering bashfulness, when he wraps his arms around Brienne and tumbles her on her back Jaime is unsurprised to find her heart pattering, cantering like a filly on soft, sandy ground. She feigns outrage when she spills water over them both, nearly dropping the cup on the flagstones, darts a look at the slumbering Tommen and whispers Jaime’s name sharply, like he is being very unreasonable. Jaime kisses her, smiles as he wraps his lips around her nipple, to show her she isn’t the only one who knows how to use her mouth for wordless conversations. Trails his fingers down between her legs, where she is unashamed in wanting him. Brienne recognizes him, greets him, open and wet. She sighs Jaime’s name now, a different pitch entirely, and arches, pushing her whole breast into his mouth, her muscular stomach brushing his chest as his fingers tease and caress and begin to thrust. Her body rising to meet his in a rush, as his rushes for her.


End file.
